Just 'Cause You Feel It
by junkbondtrader
Summary: Just cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there. A angst filled LupinTonks story, exploring their relationship. Starts somewhere in the middle of HBP, then gradually travels back in time, linking into itself. Rated M for violence.
1. Keep Breathing

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of the characters/places I write about.**

A/N: I had written two chapters of this story under the same title, and a oneshot chapter of another story. But in writing another chapter, I've found a way to combine the two stories. So I've taken the others off and merged them into this. And... I switched the tense of the longer one. This story is written backwards. So the next chapter will end somewhere before this one begins. But then, I guess they'll all sort of link into eachother. I don't know, I'm experimenting. I'm trying to explore Lupin's part in his relationship with Tonks, and his views on it both consciously and subconsciously. I'm hoping that with each passing chapter, you'll better understand the one before it. So no flames please, I'm not all that new to this whole writing thing, just to... letting people read it...  


Into his life, she has stumbled. The walking disaster. The accident waiting to happen. But a glimpse of Heaven in the ever suffocating Hell that was his life. Yet their relationship is unstable. And like all things unstable, it is destined to come crumbling down on both of them.

He calls out to her through the darkness.

Her eyes shoot open. Now hazel, then blue, then amber like his. They stare up at him, questioning and unblinking. Bending low, he gently strokes the side of her pale face. So smooth. So perfect. So unlike his own.

She lifts her head to meet him in a kiss. His own lips are icy cold, but hers are warm, radiating heat. A passionate vibration circles between them, as his tongue passes into her.

And then there is no war going on outside of them. There is no great evil smothering the world. The suicide mission of feral werewolves and Fenrir Greyback is dissolving like some terrible nightmare. The endless nothing has dissipated, and somehow they are safe. The warmth is somehow saving them. In equilibrium the pieces have fallen into place, completing them both like a jigsaw puzzle.

He pulls back slowly, a melancholy expression crosses his face. He can't meet her eyes. Those two deep grey pools reflecting his own inner sorrow. Cold tears push their way out, threatening to spill over and cover the world with their misery. Her mouth hangs open slightly, and her bottom lip trembles. Pulling her close, he lets his right cheek rest just above her delicate ear. Her long hair falls into his, matching it's colour completely.

He can't let this work. Her presence has always filled him with a sense of worthlessness he can never rise above. He is fractured. He is torn at the seams, and ripping. He is partial and incomplete. He is utterly undeserving, for she is everything he is not. But mostly, he truly does not believe that he will survive his ongoing mission underground. It will kill him. And he knows it.

He won't see her tied down to a broken corpse. He will never do that to the woman he loves. To the only woman who has ever loved him.

She does not understand the full implications of the war, and her innocence is heartbreaking. But it is destroying them both, and he has to end it.

But there is another reason, he himself is too afraid to confront, too ashamed to ever admit. He shakes his head, clearing his mind.

A sense of finality fills the air, and the eternal chill seeps slowly back into the room.

She presses her forehead against his shoulder. Her words are choked with tears that wet his frayed and tattered coat.

"But… I feel it." she whispers. Her heart sounds in his ears.

"Just because you feel it, doesn't mean it's there." he lies softly, releasing her.

She sinks back into darkness, when he lets her go.

She craves an inner light in him, that has been out for years. One he truly does not think could be reignited. And though a small part of him fully wants to try, the sheer immensity of the emptiness is too overwhelming. He won't give either of them false hope. His inevitable emissary death will be easier on her once she hates him. She will move on with her beautiful life, so that as always, his own crushing despair will gradually fade into blessed nothingness. He repeats this again in his head, because the more he tries to convince himself, the more real it becomes.


	2. Wake From Your Sleep

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of the characters/places I write about.**

A/N: This story is written backwards. So the next chapter will have ended sometime before this one began.

The deadly cold numbs the small boy's exposed skin. The wind twists its way steadily through the darkness, nudging the decaying tree branches. The wood cracks slightly like small bones, cutting through the thickening quiet. Full of wonder and primal fear, the child presses on. He feels as if in a dream, fog crawls around the woods like writhing snakes made of smoke plumes. He scrambles over a fallen tree, mind clouded, a sudden compulsion to press on. The desire grows stronger.

The bright full moon hangs low. Yellow and large, its malicious face grins down at him. The path he has been following closes in, then disappears completely. The dry branches brush his shoulders like stiff, dead hands. His steps fall into a hypnotizing pattern, and for a moment, he becomes completely disoriented. The ground turns soft and thick, until every step he takes is heavy and weighed down. He stumbles on something, but manages to balance himself before falling. He glances down to investigate, only to find that the ground is covered in a completely opaque fog, reaching up to his knees.

At last, a sense of cold panic washes over him as he turns around in a quick circle. He's reached a clearing, and there's no telling which way he's been or which way he should go. He knows he's been here before. He tries to recall when, but the fog that's covered the ground seems to have encased his memory too.

He looks around uneasily, then lets out a soft whimper. No sound comes out, and he realizes that the entire forest has been muted. A gust of wind blows through the clearing with no audible effect. The fog doesn't dissipate in the breeze. Rather the thick blanket grows, swallowing up his thighs, and clawing it's way towards his naval. The distinct feeling of being in a inescapable pool that's slowly filling with blood is overwhelming.

He hears a low heart beat slice through the perfect silence. The fog echoes the thumping, growing higher as the rhythmic noise grows louder. The moon bears down on the boy standing helplessly in the middle of the woods, white fog quickly approaching his shoulders. The distinct sound of breaking branches and crackling underbrush echoes in circles, turning him around. It's distant at first, then sickeningly near, closing in on him.

Like a deadly shark, a black shadow cuts through the fog. He strains his neck to see. Walking backwards, he trips over something cold and soft. The horrible smell overwhelms him, and though blinded by the weather, he becomes positive that he's fallen on a bloated corpse. The grey mist parts, and ripples as a low rumble cuts through the darkness. The fine hairs covering his small body stand on edge. He can feel the cold sweat trickle down his cheeks. His mind screams at him to turn and run, but every joint in his body has frozen solid, and his feet are sinking into the mud. The fog has almost cleared as the dark shape approaches him.

The animalistic growling turns into a cold laugh, low and muffled. The throat it pours out of must be filled with rotting gore, burrowing insects, and a darkness that grows more and more inescapable by the second. He scrambles to his feet. The creature draws the fog to itself, clearing the rest of the circle.

He begins to shudder all over. The flesh around his lower stomach feels like it's crawling off. The two empty sockets of the beast stare him down, glowing red in an soulless mockery of real eyes.

"Run" The thing laughs in a low wet gurgle, bubbling out of it's throat like warm blood. It taunts him, as if the very idea of escape is absurd.

But Remus does flee. Twisting his body jerkily, he rushes to crank his stagnant limbs into motion. Unable to avert his eyes from the corpse on the ground, he catches a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. Pink, splattered in red. He forces himself to move, but the blurry fatigue becomes overwhelming. The fog seeps back quickly clinging to his legs. It grabs hold to him like a think blanked of snow. The creature is laughing again, advancing slowly. The guttural chuckling grows so close, that he's sure he can feel it's rotten breath grazing his neck. At last, freeing himself from the fog, he makes one last lunge into the woods. The corpse on the ground snaps, and hears what sounds like breaking bones. A cold hand encases itself around his ankle, slimy and dead like a piece of rotting flesh. His screams echo through the woods but never reach his lips as he….

_Wakes_, sitting up sharply with a jerk. The small bedroom of the Weasleys' house is uncomfortably warm, and he furiously brushes off the cold sweat. Fumbling, he reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand, downing it. He breathes in slowly, forcing himself to stay awake long enough to be sure he won't drift back into the familiar nightmare. He's had that dream before. Many times. But he'd always been able to run out of the clearing. Always able to wake up before the creature came that close…

_If it wasn't for the damned corpse… _Flashes of details from the dream come to him, then fade before he can record them in his memory. Lying back on the soft pillow he pulls the quilt up, dream leaving him at last, fading into darkness.


	3. Reach out, don't reach out

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of the characters/places I write about.**

A/N: This story is written backwards. So the next chapter will have ended sometime before this one began.

He walks back into bathroom, towel draped over his angular shoulders. Wet hair tussled, he runs his long fingers through the graying strands. Grasping the sides of the porcelain sink, he groans at his disheveled appearance.

Stillness. A leaking faucet drips in hollow, rhythmic beats. He tips the handle counter clockwise. Sighing, he runs his hands through the icy water, bringing them up quickly to douse his face. Dark circles hang under his drooped eyes. Wet strands of dark blonde hair settle on his pale forehead. His split lip is swelling, and his teeth hurt. Bruises everywhere that just won't heal. To say the least, he looks, and feels like shit.

Determined to enjoy his rare day off, he takes a long shower. Roughly scrubbing off the dirt and leaves that cling to his skin, he lets the hot water trail down him. Inviting steam fills up the small bathroom, cleaning out his lungs, soothing his troubled mind.

Shaking his hair once more he lets his eyes pass over the mirror, as he makes his way out of the steamy room. He pulls on a soft cotton t-shirt, and a loose pair of jeans and works his way over to the bed. He winces as he notices the clumps of earth he'd left on the sheets when he'd collapsed there the night before. Spelling the mess away, he falls back onto the worn bed. A soft moan of pleasure escapes him. This small comfort that he'd been deprived of for so long was, to say the least, amazing..

He begins to slip into unconsciousness, when a soft knocking sounds at the door. Amber eyes shoot open.

"Come in." His voice is hoarse and sounds strange to his ears.

The hinges of the door mewl as Molly Weasley walks in backwards carrying a rather large tray of assorted breakfast items. Pulling himself up, he bites his lip, embarrassed.

"You didn't have to bring me breakfast Molly…" He trails off weakly at the woman's stern expression. Eyes downcast he thanks her and accepts the food. She pulls up an old chair from the nearby desk. Sitting next to the bed, she shoots the man a disapproving glare until he hesitantly picks up a fork and begins eating.

She clasps the back of her chair and sighs heavily. She looks as if she's grasping for words, and pauses before she speaks.

"I worry about you." Her eyes trail down to his emaciated and ragged form.

Carefully, he places his fork down on the side of his plate and dabs his mouth with the cloth napkin.

"There's nothing to worry about." he says softly. The tray shifts in his lap as he crooks his knee slightly.

"Remus…" She pauses, taking a deep breath of air "Look at yourself." The gentle words are tinged with sadness... pity even.

"I take habit in avoiding mirrors as much as possible, Molly."

She snorts, and shakes her head slowly. Her arms sternly before her.

"It's killing you, you know." She says simply.

"Yes. But the mission is…"

"I wasn't talking about your mission." She snaps. No response from him. Her jaw line softens slightly. "All of this depreciating nonsense… those self-inflicted wounds hurt others too, you know."

Remus doesn't have to ask who the 'others' are. It's bad enough most of the Burrow's residents have taken interest in his rocky love life, now the intrusion of privacy was seeping into his day off.

"Molly, It would never work out…" he trails off, closing his eyes, as if to shut out the world.

"Only because you refuse to let it work." she huffs. He cringes.

"I _can't _let it work." He winces, grinding his teeth in frustration. His voice shakes but there's a powerful force behind his words.

"You're taking a ridiculous stand on this Remus…" She brushes herself off and stands up. Clearing his partially eaten tray, she opens the door.

"It's killing her too…" She murmurs, looking distant. "Enjoy your day off." She says stiffly, exiting the room. She leaves him alone.

Cold guilt seeps it's way back into the werewolf. He pushes it down where none could see. For he knows he can never let it fill the ever expanding gap that he's placed between himself and the one he loved. They stood on opposite edges of a canyon. The distance between them is all he has to buffer her from his pain, and keep himself from getting hurt. As much as he loathes it, he isn't ready to loose that space, and tear down the wall he built between them.

His eyelids lower heavily, as he finally falls into a restless sleep.


	4. Drying of your tears

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the characters/places I write about.

A/N: This story is written backwards. So the next chapter will have ended sometime before this one began.

Nervousness and curiosity combine in him as never before. His heart beats wildly inside his thin chest. Her eyes pass over him in the briefest of instants, as she leaves the room silently. He sinks back into the couch, and feels his eyes closed, though he wills them open. He breathes a sigh of relief as the tension drizzles slowly away.

They were only friends, at first. But previous events have rendered every passing moment between them awkward and uncomfortable. Frankly, her unnerving ability to be so unpredictable alarms Remus. He never knew what to expect.

"We need to talk."

Warm breathe grazes the back of his neck. Delicate hairs stand on end as he fights the impulse to shudder. He still ends up jumping out of his seat. She places her cautious hand on his slumped shoulder.

"We do…" It isn't a question. She smiles vaguely. He gets up, crossing the room to stand before her.

"About the other night…" she trails off. Her usual confident manner dissipates around her. But then again, nothing is ever usual about Tonks. He is hesitant to interrupt.

"I want… I want to know you, Remus." Her hand trails softly up his neck, gently caressing the skin beneath his collar.

He knows where she is going with this. He winces as he looks down. Anywhere but those piercing eyes. She draws back, stung.

"Tonks… I can't…" He squeezes his eyes together tight. Her sharp intake of breath cuts through the silence.

"What's wrong with me?" Her voice is fragile, words shattering in mid air.

"Nothing is wrong with you." His voice is stronger then hers, but not by much.

"Okay then…" Her utterance trembles as much as she does. Her hair dulls before him. Her eyes seem to morph into bottomless pits. Two endlessly bleak caverns sparkling with unshed tears. She takes in a shaky hollow breath, then hisses "Why."

The soft malice lacing it surprises them both.

"Don't mistake this infatuation with love" He whispers, turning away. She laughs bitterly.

"You make it sound like I have a completely unrealistic idea of what love is."

"Please… I-I never meant to hurt you." His vision is blurred, his voice is cracked, but she's falling out of reach.

"No? Then why do I feel like I'm disappearing." her harsh whisper chills the air. She was already fading.

"I can't let… please... "

Eyes shut tight, she shakes her head violently and stumbles away.


	5. Today, we escape

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters/places that I write about.

A/N: This story is written backwards. So the next chapter will have ended sometime before this one began.

Are his insides torn as much as the out? More even? Is he like them, or not? He screams when they scream. He howls when they howl. They run together, hunt together… weep together. He knows he isn't the only one with scars that can't be seen. All around him, broken people with hollow eyes. Men, women… children. They could have been the empty shell survivors of a terrible war. But they are Fenrir Greyback's werewolves.

They sit on the raw earth, in a forest almost sickeningly quiet. The children huddle off to the side, but the men and women intermingle silently. Remus sits alone against the thick trunk of a dead tree. His heart races with every heavy breath he takes. It's as if the very exhalation of air would spill his lie out completely and expose him. Give away his cover. The sun is close to setting now, and it's always like this before the full moon.

Some new children start crying audibly. No one moves to comfort them, yet tension radiates heavy from everyone. Dripping invisibly down their clenched bodies like beads of sweat. Solemn faces stare at the brittle dirt below them. Spirits vanquished, vacant eyes bitterly accepting their fate, they refuse to spare the soft cries a passing glance.

Greyback storms to the youngest group, anger on his face betrayed by the twisted smile in his eyes. As he hears the commotion, Remus turns his head towards the dispute. The group has scattered. Two dirty young twin girls lie on the ground clutching each other. Their sobs are silent now, but don't cease. Their tears stream endlessly, cutting lines through the caked filth on their cheeks. The empty quiet of the forest becomes overwhelming again. Greyback is gone, and a sigh of relief passes through the group.

He gazes at the two girls. Pale skin, dark hair, perfect features, they could have been pulled from any fairy tale. They are by far the youngest of the pack. Much too young to be in the company of wolves. They tremble. One sister takes the dominant roll, desperately trying to comfort the other. The timid one says nothing, but weeps silently. She hugs her sister tight, fear and hopelessness deeply set in her innocent eyes. The dominant one whispers comforting words, reminding her twin of their mother, their beds, their puppy….

How old are they? He wonders. Surely no older then eight. More likely much younger. Greyback likes them young.

Was this obsession with children, ever just about raising them away from their parents? Or was it the idea of being that nameless childhood terror that possessed him so? He wonders if Greyback fancies himself the cunning wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. Ruthlessly stalking the sweet faced girl in the woods. Or maybe he's the strangely shaped shadow creeping slowly from the closet? The clammy hand that grabs the ankle from under the bed?

For, he doesn't raise these werewolves, they raise themselves. He backhands them when they step out of line, but once usually does the trick. No, Remus muses, he likes to ensnare them with terror then control them with fear. These sad ghosts that surround him, loathe Greyback as much as he does. But they don't dare question his authority, for they are too afraid to rise up.

Is that is why he chooses children? He and all these poor souls all share the same early memory of writhing and screaming at the jaws of a monster. The same monster that forcefully took them away from their normal lives. They hate him. But they're too immobilized by fear to move against him. It is the only glimmer of hope his Order mission has.

The sun rises the next morning. The smell of rotting flesh fills the air. He hears gagging. And though he feels like vomiting himself, holds it in. Groggily opening his eyes, he surveys the damage.

The top half of a small fawn lays on it's back. It's eyes are glazed, and the earth below it's stained red. If deer have expressions, this one's dumbly shocked. Some of the entrails are scattered on the ground but most of the missing flesh lays in the stomachs of the trembling werewolves as they awaken.

Some try to wipe the blood off their faces. Others look around shamefully, unsure of what to do. Some rest their broken bodies.

A high, piercing scream rips through the now fragile silence. More of the pack wake up. Some hurriedly clasp their hands to their still sensitive ears, blocking out the shrill noise. He feels hot, rancid breath on his neck and turns around. Blood separates every pointed tooth of Greyback's hideous smile.

"That little timid one was a right tough wolf last night" he licks his lips, "tore that twin of hers to shreds over a piece of the meat… then finished her off just before morning" His tone is approving and disgustingly proud.

He can't help but turn away. A stream of red vomit at last joins the ground. Greyback snorts, then walks away. Remus's world sways as he stands there. Flooded with self-disgust, grief, and rage he grasps the dead tree for support. It's almost more than he can bare. He would kill Greyback then, if he could. Rip him to pieces and take back every innocent life he ruined, every fear he exploited, and every spirit he had so carelessly taken and ripped apart.

He is like them, these lost werewolves, Remus decides. Too exhausted to cry for the little girl, to afraid to console her. They are the same prisoners of the same fear. It is Greyback who is the least like them. The monster hiding under their beds. A representation of the terrifying beast he's forced them to be. Remus would save them. Take them from the place where there was so much to fear, and kill the creature that had dragged them there. For now, he can only listen to the traumatized girl's muffled whimpers. The sun lies above them, but the cold darkness of night never leaves. He remembers Tonks the nights before, her advance, his shock. He looks at all that is around him, and all that is within.

Are his insides tore inside and out? A little more with every passing month it seems.


	6. Trip me as I speak

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the characters/places I write about.

A/N: This story is written backwards. So the next chapter will have ended sometime before this one began

* * *

They sit on a ragged couch in the burrow, coffee mugs in hand, a comfortable distance apart. Mutually, they enjoy the silence. His eyes are closed, hair hanging lightly in his face. She listens to his soft even breathing, and wonders why the voices from the kitchen are suddenly silent.

_I hope he's not asleep. _She glances over at the ragged werewolf. The full moon had not been kind to him. The dull orange lamp on the table illuminates his graying hair. His aging face.

"Uh, Remus?" She says softly, carefully sliding her legs up on the couch. He opens his slowly eyes.

"Yes Tonks?" He sets his coffee down.

"Er… why have you stopped calling me Nymphadora."

He cocks an eyebrow, watching her carefully.

"Um… You tell everyone not to." He smiles slightly then furrows his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Oh… no reason…" She trails off, scratching her head.

Remus picks up his coffee, and takes a tentative sip.

"Uh, Remus?" She pulls her legs closer.

"Yes Tonks?" He says in the same kind, patient voice she's grown to cherish.

"We're… friends, right?" She looks at the kitchen, then down to the floor.

"We're good friends… aren't we?" a slight worried expression crosses his prematurely lined face. He can feel the apprehension gathering in her and radiating out.

"Yeah, but…" she hesitates.

"Tonks, I don't understand…" He leans up in the couch, genuinely confused. She looks him straight in the eye, and grips his hand tight.

"Listen Remus, I just want to say this, but…"

"Tonks I…"

"Remus, I like you." she breaths.

He stared at her blankly.

_Oh shit. Does he honestly not understand? _She thinks.

"I… like you too Tonks. We're good friends."

"No!" She gasps, and has to restrain herself from slapping her forehead in frustration. "I mean… I'd like to be _more_ than good friends…" Her eyes bare into him.

His eyes widen and he starts to stutter.

"U-uh N-Nymphadora er T-Tonks. You're a great girl, b-but I… b-but…"

"But what?" She whispers bitterly. Tears build in her eyes as she looks at the floor.

"I-I'm too old for you…" He turns away from her.

"Your not that much older!" She almost yells. She can see that he's trembling.

"Tonks, please don't make this harder than it has to be. I'm too old… t-too poor… you deserve so much better." His large, eternally sad eyes beg her silently.

Her mouth moves silently in anger and frustration. She doesn't know how to respond. Finally…

"I'm sorry I said anything. Just… just drop it okay." She shrugs him off. Throwing the pillow she's been clutching back on the couch, she storms out of the room. He winces, breath leaving in a low hiss as some door, somewhere slams shut.

"Very debonair Lupin." A cold voice pierces the blessed silence.

Remus whips around.

"Snape?" He rakes his hair back from his forehead, turning.

"Although, allowing her to see you on the full moon, would get her off your tail" his cruel smirk is tinged with malice.

"Yes, but that trick didn't even work with you, did it?" He shoots back. Brushing himself off, he walks tiredly passed the speechless potions master. "Goodnight Severus."

* * *

Tonks is already at work when he wakes the next morning. He hastily sends her an owl.

_Tonks, _

_I'm sorry. I don't want to loose you as a friend. But I think we should stay friends. Please don't hate me._

_-Remus _


	7. Steer away from these rocks

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the characters/places I write about.

A/N: This story is written backwards. So the next chapter will have ended sometime before this one began

* * *

Dumbledore's glasses slide down his nose as he glances at the man slumped in the chair before him.

"I'm sorry Remus, but your mission is vital. I understand what it does to you, but this could be crucial to winning the war" The old wizard says gently.

Remus looks up, emotion deep in his eyes.

"I've barely made any progress! Greyback is _always_ there, he's _always_ watching!" He pleads softly.

"You have to keep trying. If you give up hope, then all of those children you spoke of will be lost to Greyback forever." Dumbledore gives him a stern look.

Remus looks away. He slowly bows his head, then nods.

"As you wish sir. I'll return to the pack." His eyes close slowly as if in pain.

Dumbledore's expression lights up and a smile returns to his aged face.

"Excellent, then we'll just…"

"But sir, those children may already be lost." Remus interrupts softly. "And the more time I spend with them, the more time I live with that… that monster, the more I feel as though I'm losing myself…"

"You'll survive this Remus." Dumbledore says after a long pause.

He smiles bitterly as he raises his head.

"I always do."


	8. Singing you to shipwreck

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the characters/places I write about.

A/N: This story is written backwards. So the next chapter will have ended sometime before this one began

* * *

They walk side by side down the softly graveled path. The frequent streetlamps illuminate the calm park in a soft light. Young muggle lovers hold hands and watch their care-free children play joyfully in front of them. An elderly couple sit on a bench. She rests her head on his shoulder, smiling contently. The darkness of night has never seemed so harmless. So innocent.

Silently they pass these happy muggles, not bothering to watch where they're headed. Because just "going out to get some air" and "I'll go with you" has turned into a long walk, passed in comfortable silence. They hear soft music grow louder as the path they walk is illuminated.

Few children watch the magnificent glowing carousel spin round and round, in the late hours of the night. But those who do gaze with awe at the luminous mechanical God in the heart of the park. Every inch, hand carved and painted with meticulous detail. She stops short, gasping in amazement.

"_What is it_?" Her eyes widen like those of the children around them. He laughs quickly. Disbelievingly. Seeing only confusion in her, he sobers up.

"It's a carousel… Have you never seen one before?" She shakes her head slightly, eyes never leaving the electric marvel.

He thinks back to his own childhood. Of his muggle mother taking him to a nearby park to ride a similar one. Although similar doesn't seem a proper word to describe carousels, he muses. Rather, they're more like snowflakes. Each one identical in concept, but unique in their intricate details.

He glances over at the pink haired witch and smiles. He's never realized how deprived magical children must be.

"Do you want to ride it?" He asks, and smiles gently at her. She looks around nervously.

"I don't have any muggle currency." She shrugs, eyes never leaving the carousel.

"Here." He pulls out a decrepit looking wallet and hands her some money.

Despite her protests, he walks her to the man in the booth and buys her a ticket. The carousel slows to a stop.

"You better get on." He says. They watch as the last of the children exit through the one way, gold painted gate. He pauses. "I'll watch."

She circles the machine twice, and finally decides on a grey stallion, rearing forward yet bolted firmly to the ground. The ride begins to come to speed as the calliope music starts up. She's the only one on the ride. He sits on a log carved flat to serve as a bench for loving parents to watch their children.

When she passes by, he sees her grinning as she gazes in awe at the carefully painted murals on the base, and the hand crafted mirrors on the ceiling.

The next time she comes around she looks out from the ride in time to catch his eyes. Her right arm flails in a spastic wave, and he salutes back, grinning. He leans forward.

He sees her again, only this time she's transfigured her entire head to look like Severus Snape, and leans out sneering. Remus falls off the bench in surprise, and catches her laughing at him. Passing out of view. The next time she comes back he's not there.

She looks concerned. She looks over her right shoulder and then she looks behind her.

"Remus…" She says softly.

"Yes?" He asks, suddenly, sitting on the horse next to her.

She gives a muffled scream before toppling backwards off her horse. He dives and manages to catch the bulk of her fall.

She glares up at him, as he sets her fully on the ground.

"Oh that was _so _funny!" she says sarcastically. "How the hell did you get up here?"

"I hopped the fence when you weren't looking, and walked around."

"You arse!" She takes the helping hand he offers, but glares up at him. "I could have been killed!"

He shakes his head with a quiet laugh, watching her in amusement. She brushes herself off, and leans on the horse, crossing her arms. The ride slows to a still. And the music stops.

"You probably should have worn the seatbelt" He says, holding up the small, child size strap.

Her eyes narrow and she gives him a playful shove.

"Should we head back?" She asks mournfully.

"Yes." He sighs. "Dumbledore wanted to speak with me." He glances up at the ride then down at her

She looks uncomfortable. Awkward. He frowns, confused at the sudden change.

"Is something wrong?"

She shakes her head, and shrugs.

"No, nothing's wrong. Just thinking about the war..." She trails off uncertainly. But he accepts her answer with a quick nod as they head to the gate.

"After you."


End file.
